Verse
Friends
The old word is dead.
The old books are dead.
Our speech with holes like worn-out shoes is dead.
Dead is the mind that led to defeat.
2
Our poetry has gone sour.
Women's hair, nights, curtains and sofas
Have gone sour.
Everything has gone sour.
3
My grieved country,
In a flash
You changed me from a poet who wrote love poems
To a poet who writes with a knife
4
What we feel is beyond words:
We should be ashamed of our poems.
5
Stirred by Oriental bombast,
By boastful swaggering that never killed a fly,
By the fiddle and the drum,
We went to war,
And lost.
6
Our shouting is louder than our actions,
Our swords are taller than us,
This is our tragedy.
7
In short
We wear the cape of civilisation
But our souls live in the stone age
8
You dont win a war
With a reed and a flute.
9
Our impatience
Cost us fifty thousand new tents.
10
Dont curse heaven
If it abandons you,
[...] Read more
poem by Nizar Qabbani
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